


Tell Me

by Xyriath



Category: Young Avengers
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Multi, polyamory (background)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 03:06:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Teddy finds out why Tommy doesn't like hospitals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lykoi](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lykoi).



> Prompted fic for a friend. <3

His heart shouldn’t have been beating this quickly.  Even for a speedster, it shouldn’t have been happening.  But the sterile, tiled floors and the smell of antiseptic had clogged his head with what was almost a physical sensation of panic that he couldn’t manage to claw off.

He should have been there, should have been with the Kaplans, holding Billy or with a hand on Mrs. Kaplan’s shoulder or promising Robin that it was going to be okay, but one look at the surgical stitches that the doctor was preparing for the younger Kaplan and Tommy was _gone_.  His legs moved faster than his brain, and the whole “no superpowers in public” rule didn’t really matter right now.  He moved quickly enough that he figured it didn’t matter, anyway, at least with the small part of his brain that was actually thinking about that.  He had more important things to focus on at the moment.  Like getting the fuck out of there.

And then he was _out_ of the hospital, across the street with his arms wrapped around himself tightly, hands on his elbows.  A thumb subconsciously rubbed the crook of his left arm.  He knew what he would find there, the scattered dots of scars that, to all appearances, were harmless; nothing more than a mottling of white that barely showed up against his already pale skin.

Tommy knew better.

The sidewalk seemed like it was tilting slightly underneath his feet, and he tripped over to sit on a nearby bench with a movement that was closer to a collapse than he would have liked to think, screwing his eyes shut.  His fingers gripped his elbows even more tightly in a futile attempt to stop their shaking, but there was nothing to do about his legs, just cross them at the ankles, pressing them close together, and wishing that was even remotely effective.

The hand that settled on his shoulder, though probably meant to help, did just the opposite.  Tommy sprang away, yelping out a “ _Jesus!_ ” and trying to scramble away from the contact.  His tangled legs and closed eyes, however, ensured a predictable result, and if the strong arms hadn’t caught him, he would have ended up crashing face-first into the pavement.

“ _Tommy?_ ”

That—that was Teddy’s voice.  Teddy.  Shit.

Tommy twisted around awkwardly, and he supposed he had to give Teddy credit for not dropping him on his head, the way he was moving around.  Even so, his hands had, he realized, unconsciously gone to fist themselves tightly in Teddy’s shirt.

“Oh.  Uh.  I, uh… sorryy’kindasnuckuponmeand…”  He shrugged uncomfortably, half pulling away out of habit, but Teddy’s arms and his own hands made that a non-option.

The arms at his waist gave a tug.  Tommy felt his legs stumbling again, and a moment later he was sitting on the bench again, Teddy’s arms still wrapped around him.  To his credit, he didn’t bolt again, but he unclenched his fists from Teddy’s shirt and lowered his hands, gripping Teddy’s arms for a moment before he pushed them away.  He was feeling stifled enough already, and Teddy’s normally comforting arms had become smothering.  He pretended to miss the slightly hurt and puzzled expression on Ted’s face, balling his fists in his lap, face blank.  He almost wrapped his arms around himself again, but not in front of Teddy.

A sudden warmth appeared at his shoulder, and he glanced over.  Teddy had leaned into him slightly, looking over at him with a hesitant expression.  “Tommy, what’s the matter?”

An irrational annoyance sprung up in Tommy’s chest.  Wasn’t he supposed to ask something more along the lines of, “Are you okay?”  That was easier to brush off, easier to answer with a casual yes and shrug it off.  He shrugged anyway, face still blank, trying to play everything off as fine.  “Nothin’.  Just surprised me is all.”

They sat in silence for a few moments.  Tommy wondered if he had actually been lucky enough to get away with avoiding one of those awkward conversations, which had multiplied exponentially since moving in with the Kaplans.  Teddy didn’t seem to be pursuing—

“You don’t like doctors,” came the soft reply.  Well, shit.  Tommy’s shoulders tensed again.  He so did not want to have this conversation right now.

“You seemed kind of upset when we visited Mr. Kaplan at the hospital that once, and…”  Teddy shrugged.  “You haven’t been obvious about it.  Not really, but I noticed.”  Not obvious until now, Tommy thought.  A+ for you, Shepherd, with the subtlety of… something that was really obvious.  He hoped Teddy was done.  Please be done.  Stop being caring and attentive and just drop it.

“What happened, Tommy?”

Tommy could imagine that he probably looked like a puffed up cat right now.  He should have been relaxed, leaning back, playing it cool, but with Teddy talking like this…  Jesus, leave it to him to find the one thing Tommy couldn’t brush off, the one thing that freaked him out beyond jokes and teasing and carelessness.  Leave it to him to actually be a good boyfriend.  Ugh.

“Nothing.”  Shit.  Had his voice just squeaked?  No, not quite, but it had been a close thing.  For a moment, he considered launching off the bench and taking a short vacation in Zimbabwe, but Teddy… had apparently hidden a mind-reading ability (since Tommy refused to believe that anyone, especially not Teddy, had him figured out), because he placed a hand on Tommy’s thigh.  Not firmly enough to keep him in place if he _really_ wanted to run, but enough of a plea to stay that Tommy felt familiar guilt eating away at his stomach at even the thought of ditching Teddy.

“Hey.  You can talk to me.  About this.”  The unspoken, “you _need_ to talk to someone about this” hung so thickly and obviously around them that Tommy could almost have snatched it from the air and thrown it at Teddy’s head.  “You… it’s not the sort of thing that you should keep… quiet about, you know?”

Stupid Teddy’s voice, so low and reassuring and comforting.  Tommy hated it.  Hated his voice, hated how he always seemed to make sense and be reasonable and talk Tommy into making good decisions that he didn’t want to make.

The memories, sharp and bitter and unwanted, showed their ugly faces again.  They were never really gone, always had some sort of horrible draw to recalling, like a sore on the tongue that you forgot about for a while, but then it brushed something and reminded you that it was there.  And then… and then you couldn’t stop worrying at it, pushing it against your teeth, brushing it against your lips, and even though it hurt and bothered and was _awful_ , you just made it worse.  You couldn’t help yourself.

He had never shared them, though.  Never told the rest of the team—hadn’t thought they had _realized_ how bad it was.  He had managed to hide when he woke up screaming at night with well-placed pillows, had hidden the scars by never wearing shorts and the trauma with his bravado.  From everyone but Mrs. Kaplan, anyway; he was pretty sure she knew.  Not the whole story, but pieces of it.  She was too brilliant and observant a lady not to have figured it out.

“Please.”  Teddy’s stupid voice again.  “We’re a team.  More than that, we’re together.  You, and me, and Billy, and we want to help.”  Correctly interpreting Tommy’s glare, he hurriedly continued.  “I’m not going to tell Billy.  Not unless you want me to.  He would want to know—you should, but—”  The glare intensified, and Teddy raised a hand in surrender.  “But that’s a talk for later.”

Good Hatchling.

Tommy shifted again, looking everywhere but Teddy’s expectant face.  This was a huge part of telling anyone, after all.  How the hell did you _start_ a conversation like this?  He didn’t notice that his arms were crossed, his hands holding his elbows again.

“It was torture,” he blurted out suddenly.  What the hell.  Start here.  “I mean, people talk about—about horrible things that horrible dictator governments and Nazi doctors and Soviets and shit do, but they don’t… they don’t _get_ it.  They don’t get that kinda crap still _happens._   There are people out there, organizations that still _do_ that.  And it doesn’t matter if you’re fifteen or twenty or forty or _eighty-nine_ , but if they can get their hands on you, on a _mutie…_ ”  His face twisted into an ugly expression at the word.  “If they can get you put away for something you didn’t do, or mean to do, and away from where anyone can see you, then you’re fucked.  Royally fucked.”

Tommy took a deep breath, glancing over at Teddy for some indication, some expression, that assured him that he didn’t think Tommy was crazy.  Teddy’s concerned expression, while it made him feel kind of sick for other reasons, at least helped a little.  He didn’t think Tommy was lying or being melodramatic.  Which was something.

“In that… in the super-juvie facility?  They…”

Tommy nodded hesitantly, averting his eyes, face still determinedly blank.  “Yeah.  Lots of needles.  Lots of tests.  Had me fight the other inmates sometimes, to test our powers.”  He told himself that his shiver at that was from the temperature, and hoped that Teddy knew the same.  “And… and then there’s the part where they opened you up, your legs, to…”  To what?  What was the fucking point?  To get a better understanding of their physiology at the cost of leaving him with ugly scars that reminded him of his time there every single time he looked at his legs?  “And when they realize that you metabolize the goddamn anesthetic too quickly for it to really be useful, they just _stop using it_ , and then you go to sleep every fucking night thinking wondering if you’re going to wake up thinking you’re on the operation table again, or if you really _will_ wake up there and all of this is—”

His hand flew up to his mouth and he bit his knuckle to shut himself up.  Shit.  He hadn’t meant to say that much, not even to Teddy.

And the team had given him shit for being attached to his former mutant terrorist grandfather, talked about how he must have gotten the violent genes in the family.  But they didn’t get it.  Didn’t get that of all of them, Magneto _knew_ the sort of thing that Tommy had gone through.  Not that Tommy had ever told him, or planned to, but simply knowing, being around, someone who understood how depraved people could be was comforting.

But then Teddy’s arms were wrapped around him again, lifting Tommy as easily as a toy and pulling him into Teddy’s lap.  Tommy was torn, for a moment, between bolting and allowing it, and the latter won.  He was hesitant, still guarded, but he gingerly rested his head on Teddy’s chest.  “I am so sorry, Tommy.”

“Don’t,” Tommy grumped.  He couldn’t deal with that shit on top of _everything else._   Hell, it was hard enough letting Teddy hold him, though that was for Teddy’s benefit.  Of course.  “It isn’t your fault, and it’s over now, and I don’t want to hear it.”  This last bit was said with a raised voice as Teddy tried to speak again, but Tommy’s tone cut him off, and they were quiet for a while.  And gradually, despite the cold, New York winter, Tommy thought that everything might be okay again.


End file.
